


Nothing's All I Need

by brendonboydburie



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pete Wentz's Suicide Attempt (Best Buy Incident), fall out boy breakup, reference to divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:30:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brendonboydburie/pseuds/brendonboydburie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete and Patrick have a "blank text policy".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing's All I Need

Pete and Patrick’s relationship wasn’t exactly ever one Patrick would define as ‘normal’, so he figured it wasn’t that weird that there were some rules that went along with their friendship. Maybe not so much rules, but things they both knew were basically law of the universe, or their universe at least. For example, the blank-text policy (named by Patrick, who, being a little bit of a history nerd, got a kick out of the omage to Nixon’s blank-check policy). 

The blank text policy essentially stated thus: never, ever ignore the other’s calls. If for some reason one was in a situation where they absolutely could not answer the phone, or even type out a decent explanation of why not, they were obligated to send a blank text in response just to notify the other that they were okay.

The policy came about in a few ways. The first time there was ever a time they would have needed such a thing was in February of 2005. Patrick had called and called that night, slightly annoyed, because they had to be on a plane early the next morning and Pete was MIA, but Pete didn’t answer. Patrick figured it was pointless (he was probably off with some girl, he’d get home when he got home, fuck him, Patrick wasn’t his mother), and had left it alone, fallen asleep on the couch with his phone deathly silent on the coffee table. He’d been awakened several hours later in the dead of night by Joe shaking him harshly, voice slightly ragged saying “we gotta go, come on, we have to go, it’s Pete”. To this day Patrick remembers the look in Joe’s eyes (“fuck you, Stump, I’m not fucking crying, get in the fucking van before I punch you in the throat”), how he refused to tell Patrick, just kept saying “it’s Pete, it’s Pete,” and Patrick had no idea what that meant until they were there and he realized, had sank into a chair in the waiting room and felt his blood turn to lead.

The next time, the time that actually prompted them deciding on the policy was in early 2007. It’s not like they’d never heard celebrity death scare rumors about themselves, in fact, they actually got them quite regularly, and they usually found them a little funny when they were on the bus and Andy would burst out laughing, everyone giving him a questioning look until he turned his laptop screen to face them and they all saw the breaking news article about how Pete had gotten hit by a fruit truck, and then they all laughed together.

They were funny, until they weren’t together. It had never happened before, Pete had never been apart from Patrick whenever he heard about the new way Patrick Stump had died this time. And Patrick got them significantly less than Pete, so even though it had happened, he wasn’t all that used to it. It was the middle of the afternoon, and Joe, Andy and Pete were doing some interview to wrap up the press for the Infinity release before they all flew home to get ready for tour. Patrick had left early, ‘personal reasons’, and Pete had shot him a look when he wouldn’t get into it, had vowed that they were gonna talk about it later, but Pete had let him go. He figured it was probably some family stuff, but he let it go, knowing Patrick would tell him eventually if he was annoying enough. 

They were halfway through the interview, taking a short break when Joe laughed, showed his phone to Pete to show him that Patrick was dead again. A small chill had run through Pete when he turned to Patrick to laugh with him before he realized Patrick wasn’t there. He’d shot Patrick a quick text, asking what they were gonna inscribe on his gravestone, and returned to finish the interview without really thinking about it. It wasn’t until the interview was wrapped, the lights were being taken down, Joe was scrubbing makeup off his face, grumbling about being painted up while Andy dug around for the car keys that Pete checked his phone and saw there was still no reply. Almost an hour later. He stared at his phone, concerned, before pressing Patrick’s speed dial, tapping his foot impatiently. And when he was greeted by Patrick’s polite and cheerful voicemail, he froze up a little. And he called and called in the car all the way back to the hotel, and Joe nearly punched him by the time they were back in their rooms because Pete was nearly losing it, and Andy was trying to get him to just relax for a second and Pete was ready to punch a wall. (“Why the fuck isn’t he answering me then if he’s fucking fine?” “Pete, he probably just got off the plane and hasn’t even dug his phone out yet.” “No, his flight landed four hours ago, I know because I printed his flight plan for him so where the fuck is he?” “Pete, calm down-,” “No! What if that thing was right, what if he’s fucking dead?” “He’s not dead, Pete, come on-” “How do you fucking know? Fuck!!”)

Needless to say, when Patrick finally called back another hour later with a really bad excuse as to why his phone had been abandoned for about three hours, there was a lot of screaming involved. So much that the two of them ended up furious at each other and not talking for about two days (once Pete was of course back home and knew for a fact Patrick wasn’t dead), until it resolved itself and Pete explained he wasn’t screaming at Patrick because he was psycho, he was screaming because Patrick had been dead and Pete didn’t know how to live in a world where Patrick wasn’t there. And how if Patrick had just answered the fucking phone it all could have been avoided.

So the blank-text policy was born. Always answer. If incapable of answering, send a blank text so the other knew you were alive and had every intention of staying alive. If you did not answer or send your blank text within an hour, the other had every justifiable right to get on a plane and track your ass down (okay, maybe Pete had added that part and Patrick had rolled his eyes, but Pete was serious).

It had sort of evolved, become less of a “are you alive” thing and more a “are you there” thing as the death rumors became less and less and the tension between them became more and more. 

The night after The Big Fight (capitalized. That’s how big) was one of those nights the policy showed it’s true worth. It was the fight that had decided the fate of the band. Everyone saw the way Pete and Patrick had been growing in two separate directions. Not necessarily apart, but not together anymore. The tension had been there since Infinity but it was growing to the point that it was starting to become impossible to ignore during Folie. It was November 2009 when the breakdown came to a head. All of them had seen it coming, but no one wanted to accept it until they didn’t have any choice. Pete and Patrick hadn’t screamed at each other the way they did that day since they were kids. Andy and Joe hadn’t had to hold them back from each other for fear of violence since the four of them were packed in a ratty old van together, driving across the country with barely enough cash for dinner. 

The decision happened that day. It was over, and they all knew it. They didn’t want to call it ‘over’, called it ‘an indefinite hiatus’ for the fans’ sake, but deep down, they didn’t really know how to recover from something like that.

The announcement was made a few days later. They hadn’t really talked since the fight, and Pete didn’t realize how real it was until it happened, the internet exploded, and Pete had to disconnect his wifi to stop himself from watching it all come crashing down.

And that was how it hit him. It was gone. All of it. No more. No more tours with his best friends, no more late nights in the studios, no more endless hours on planes throwing things at each other from across the aisle, no more trying to make Patrick blush in interviews, no more getting high with Joe after a fucking rad show, no more video game marathons with Andy- it was gone. No more music. No more band. No more of all he’d known for the past 8 years.

It hit him like a fucking bus. Ashlee wasn’t home, had taken Bronx to visit her family, and before he knew it, he was on the ground, shaking and crying like the scared teenager he thought he wasn’t anymore. It was forever before he finally dragged himself into bed, staring at the ceiling with dry tears on his cheeks. He thought about it, had been thinking about it, mulling it over in the back of his mind for days but had known he wouldn’t have the balls to do it.

Until he was doing it before he could stop himself. It had been a week since they’d spoken, and he felt like he was dying. And he needed to know.

He sent one text, one simple word, just because he had to know what was going to happen from there on out, if he’d really just lost everything and it was all over.

'Patrick? -w'

He stared at his phone for ten minutes, feeling sick to his stomach. When nothing came, he threw it on the floor and buried his face in his pillow.

And then he heard a magical little tinkling, the standardized, robotic sound of his text tone, and had snatched the phone off the ground, pulling it close to see-

1 new message from: Trick

It was blank.

And Pete had cried. 

Because it was okay. It was all going to be okay. Patrick was still there. Not just alive, not just there in the world, but there in Pete’s world. Because if they could scream at each other the way they did, tear it all down, rip everything to shreds and call it all off, and Patrick still sent a blank text when Pete asked, it was going to be okay.

Pete hadn’t lost his best friend. They were damaged, but not broken. Everything they’d built together wasn’t over, but it really was just a break, and there was still hope.

Patrick had showed up at his door the next morning and Pete had hugged him like his life depended on it. They talked. They couldn’t fix it now. They weren’t ready and they both knew it. There was a lot that had to be done, and they had all known for a long time they needed time apart.

But they were still best friends. Patrick was still Pete’s and Pete was still Patrick’s (forever, he always added silently). And that was all that mattered.

They kept the policy up, even when they didn’t talk as much. They never stopped talking, were always in touch, but they both got busy, tours and albums and bands and relationships, and maybe talked a lot less than they wanted.

February 2011, Pete had been quiet for about a week when Patrick heard. He’d been so caught up in Truant Wave and getting ready for release, he barely noticed the lack of communication. And then it was all over the celeb gossip rags.

"Simpson/Wentz Split! The Tragic Fall Out!"

Patrick felt sick, like he’d abandoned Pete at the worst time. He called, and got no answer, and felt even worse. He called again, and after a few more, tried his absolute hardest not to panic. He sent a text finally, trying to stay calm, and he’d never admit it, but he’d already starting look at flights.

'Pete…I'm so sorry. Are you okay?'

He only waited a minute before a blank text came through. 

He booked the flight anyway, but not for himself. He texted Pete the flight plan and emailed the ticket to him. Patrick picked him up at the airport a few hours later, trying not to feel too sick when he saw the dark circles and the dead look in Pete’s eyes. 

He brought him home, ordered them pizza, and let Pete talk until he fall asleep with his head on Patrick’s lap.

That night was the first time Pete kissed him.

Patrick had fallen asleep himself, right there on the couch, TV on quietly in the background, Pete’s head in his lap, Patrick’s fingers tangled loosely in Pete’s short hair. He’d woken several hours later to find Pete gone, and had looked around until he found him sitting on the back deck, staring up at the night sky. Patrick said nothing, sat down beside him and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, leaning his head against Pete’s shoulder. Pete had turned and stared at him, and Patrick had seen the sparkle of what might have been held-back tears in his eyes.

And then Pete was kissing him hard, and Patrick didn’t stop him. It wasn’t long, but it was enough, and Patrick had felt the earth shift when Pete’s fingers pressed gently into his cheek and tangled in his hair.

And then Pete pulled away and, without a word, got up and went back inside. Patrick stayed outside by himself for another twenty minutes, heart beating in his throat, lips feeling bruised. He finally forced himself inside, shivering in the night air and found Pete fast asleep on the couch. Patrick hesitated, moving towards the stairs towards his own room, before he decided there was no part of him that wanted to leave Pete alone that night. And so he found himself curled up on the couch, pressed against Pete, eyelids fluttering as he remembered the feeling of Pete’s lips on his while in reality Pete’s breath brushed over his neck and made Patrick shiver.

**Author's Note:**

> considering continuing? let me know what you think :)


End file.
